


Trapped

by br0kenc0mpasss (brokencompasss)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 2min exes, Alcohol, Arranged Marriage, Blood, Car Accidents, Earl Minho, Emotional Abuse, M/M, Modern Royalty, Prince Bang Chan, Verbal Abuse, constitutional hereditary monarchy based on democratic and parliamentary principles, runaways - Freeform, tags will be updated as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29368908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokencompasss/pseuds/br0kenc0mpasss
Summary: Modern Royalty AUChristopher Chan Bang, the crown prince, didn’t want to be king.Lee Minho would rather die than marry Bang Chan.or:An arranged marriage takes two young aristocrats by surprise. Unwilling to give up on the lives they lead, their freedom and the choices they wish they could make, separately they come to the same solution to this: run away.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 12
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi.
> 
> Please stick with me through this piece of nonsense?

_Boring._

As much as Chan understood the importance of meetings like the one he was attending, he couldn’t help glancing past the Prime Minister and through the tall windows of the royal house towards the vast green fields. The faint golden light of the sun on an autumn afternoon gave the grass a beautiful color. The soft shadows had the surrounding bushes and fallen leaves popped out in such an alluring scenery way that Chan could almost feel the texture under his boots.

It was like watching a picture in the royal gallery. Except in the royal gallery, he could watch a picture, all its details, and dream of it for as long as he wished, in silence. Here, there was the distant voice of an old man trying to explain something and something else and why some other thing couldn’t be done because of whatever. Chan had lost interest at least one hour ago.

Maybe if the topic of the meeting wasn’t so grueling his brain would do some effort on keeping up. It didn’t, and even though Chan tried his best to keep a serious face of someone deeply interested in political affairs when the Prime Minister turned to him with a knowing smile, he sensed he got caught. “I would love to hear what our beloved crown prince has to say on the matter once it’s regarding some social issues and that’s his area of concern,” mister Park lowered his chin on his hands, his elbows resting on the table.

Even knowing he was in deep trouble, Chan kept a straight face and even scribbled on his notebook, like he had taken notes. “Well, although frugal, I think we need to be kind about it. We cannot use a fallacious speech, but neither can we lose our prolegomena. Only then will we have a satisfactory corollary.”

Big words. He loved big words in moments when he needed to gain some time. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. A brief silence and the echo of his father groaning on the far end of the long dark wooden table told him that this time his bog words didn’t save him.

“As much as that advice sounds reasonable if we talk about most social issues and public demand, the question was whether we should raise the funds for the student sports championship for scholarship students or not,” Mister Park, the Prime Minister tried. Chan opened his mouth in a small “o” and nodded.

“Sure, yes. Yes, we definitely should.” Looking down, he took notes on that. Chan knew everyone on that table had caught on him bluffing, and his father would have a lot to say to him once the meeting was over.

By the time the Prime Minister was done with all the subjects that needed attention, the sky outside was already a mix of orange and pink with bulky clouds covering the most of it. The sun was gone and the grass didn’t hold the same enticing guise. Or maybe it was his mood that had gone sour meanwhile because being held back by his father in the meeting room with Mister Park wasn’t exactly good news.

“Son, we need to talk-” his father pulled the chair in front of him and sat down next to Mister Park.

Chan felt what was coming. “I am twenty-two and the crown prince, it’s time I stop daydreaming about things that are not of use for the kingdom and start focusing on learning about how it’s ruled. I know.” He sighed and tried to give both men an apologetic look. They looked at him like he was some hopeless, raunchy kid that needed fixing, it was unnerving. His father pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, eyes cast down to his phone, scrolling through something Chan could only guess were messages exchanged with someone important.

As always, he was relying on mister Park to do the parenting.

“Channie, you know I’m quite fond of you,” mister Park threaded on eggshells, he knew the king expected him to put Chan in his place, to discipline him. The truth was he wouldn’t be lectured if his father wasn’t right there. “but there are some things I can’t keep shielding you from. Growing up is one of them. And this,” he waved his hands around “is part of growing up. You are a smart kid-”

“I’m an adult.”

“Young adult. You’re a smart young adult, you’re good at everything you do, and the people adore you. The only thing missing is responsibility. You need to start being serious about the crown.” The Prime Minister carefully glanced over at the King, who was still concentrated on his phone.

Chan had been through that his whole life. Being born into the royal family of a small country set between Japan and Australia that had been colonized by the English but built by South Koreans didn’t give him the privilege of freedom. He knew he took for granted more things than he should, and that he complained too much for someone who had everything he wished for. Nevertheless, he felt stuck in the same loop ever since he remembered.

In twenty-two years of life, he learned one thing: if he abided by whatever people told him, he could have the infamous peace and quiet he constantly wished for. “My apologies for my behavior today. You’re right, I need to get a grip on my life and be sterner about government issues.”

The Prime Minister’s smile showed satisfaction at his words, and his father seemed to be content enough to nod. He stood up and the Prime Minister followed like a well-trained puppy. “Chan, keep your word. You have everything to be a great kind.” With a small smile exchanged between them, they left him alone in the room.

He sighed and slumped against the chair, eyes moving on their own to the window. Sunlight was gone, and the plants in the garden swayed pushed by the wind. Chan pulled his phone out of the pocket of his jacket and opened his chat with Felix.

_**Chan:** aaahhh i got distracted in a meeting again plz send help i will try to take a nap, ttyl_

Chan got up and left the room, closed the door behind him, and stood in the empty corridor. From there he could smell dinner getting ready in the residential wing of the royal palace, and his stomach grumbled. A shower, a nap, and dinner. That was all Chan needed.

_He could smell the chocolate fondue that stuck to the sleeve of the suit he wore, designed especially for him at that time. It was the celebration of the arrival of spring in the Kingdom of Clé, and that year the nobles of the South came to the capital for the festivities. It was not his fault things always got a little rowdy whenever he was with his cousin Felix. Perhaps, if their parents let them meet more often, they would not be so excited as to drop an entire chocolate fondue pot in the main hall because they were playing catch._

_Felix, younger than him, more innocent, and less outspoken had tears in his eyes as they got an earful from their tutors. Chan held his head down because he was taught he needed to respect his elders. But he didn’t think they did something so shameful like adults were saying they did._

_The heavy, exasperated sigh that Felix’s tutor let out sent shivers down his spine, and he watched as his cousin followed her to get cleaned up. Chan, on the other hand, stayed behind with his tutor, Miss Lee. “You will be king someday, Channie. And you’re growing fast, you’re already old enough to behave like an adult during festivities.” She kneeled down, holding his wrist and a wet cloth. She wiped ferociously at the chocolate stain on the expensive fabric. “Running around like a civilian’s kid when we have your baby sister to take care of. Honestly, I expected better behavior.”_

_Chan remembered thinking that was unfair, he shouldn’t be forced to act like an adult because he wouldn’t be an adult by the law for the next eleven years. Still, he kept his head down, silently endured getting scolded, and spent the rest of the night standing beside his mother and baby sister._

The windows rattled and Chan woke up with a start.

It was windy outside and he had forgotten to close the blinds when he laid down for a nap. His bedroom was dark by now, just the silver natural light from outside to leave a faded shadow on the desk across the bed. He stretched his arms over his head and picked his phone off the bedside table. Felix had answered with a row of laughing emojis, the same old reaction to the same old problem.

He put the phone back in place and headed out the bedroom. Unlike when he got back from the meeting, he could now hear the sounds of people existing inside the rooms that followed his. In the first room after his one, he could hear the sounds of characters talking and things exploding, probably his younger brother Lucas catching up on the games he couldn’t play during the day. He was a busy preteen, with swimming lessons, etiquette, and five different languages his tutor claimed he would use for international affairs. Chan had gone through the same when he was his age, and could now dedicate his time to social work.

The room across from Lucas’ was Hannah’s, his sister. She was not as loud as Lucas, but there was something about her presence in a room that could be felt. Apart from the fact that Chan could smell the scent of vanilla and cherries from her personal handmade perfume, the sound of her slow steps gave away she was likely to be on the phone or putting away the clothes she wore for the day. Hannah was just as busy as Lucas although not with sports. The only physical activity she still attended was the ballet classes. As of lately, she was learning how to play the violin, languages of her choice, etiquette, and fashion. The poor thing arrived home drained every day, keeping to herself mostly, he wouldn’t bother her tonight.

Getting to the dining hall Chan took notice of a few things: the delicious smell of food, the sound of his mom’s laughter, and his father’s hushed tone. The room was too big for a five people family and the table could easily fit twenty guests, something Chan thought was funny when he had his angry teen phase. He would always sit on the far end of the table when he was forced to dine with his parents after a fight. Back then he believed this to be the ultimate rebel behavior.

Nowadays he laughed at the memory.

He smiled at both, glad to see them in a good mood. His mother looked like she had come from her activities straight to the table, still wearing a peachy pink shirt, her hair up and her makeup looking freshly done. His father too, except the blazer he was wearing earlier during the meeting was nowhere to be seen. He did say he had some work to attend to, maybe he left it in his office.

“Good evening! Looking fresh and rested, Channie,” his mother smiled when he sat down. She was always gentle like this like it was expected of Hannah to be.

“I took a nap after the meeting. It just made me more eager to sleep early tonight!”

His father chuckled. “And how was the meeting today, Chan?”

Of course, he would bring that up, Chan thought. Against all the screams inside his head, he focused on putting some food on his plate. They had meat tonight, he didn’t want to spoil his mood. “It was good for the most part. But it was the last meeting I zone out, I promise. I need to focus more on serious issues.”

He could feel the movement in front of him, his parents exchanging a look. They went weirdly silent, but Chan wasn’t going to complain. The moments he had to appreciate their presence were rare, once-in-a-lifetime occurrences he could count on his fingers. When they weren’t pretending to be the perfect family because magazines and tabloids were after their throats, they were discussing business. When the discussion wasn’t about business, it was the same old talk about how to stay relevant and not become a decorative royal family.

The stress those interactions brought upon him had sent him to therapy not once, but four times ever since he turned thirteen. That was when the pressure to behave like his father and embrace the role of the future king became harder, and Chan lost it. Several sessions and an admirable amount of badly written articles about the too sensitive crown prince. 

Chan chewed on the last bite of the meat, his hunger satiated but his son senses blasting. There was something off about that silence because they seemed too happy to be this quiet. 

Gathering all his courage, Chan inspected his parents. They were staring in a way that said they wanted something from him. Which they never did, he just knew the look because he had seen it countless times before. It was the look they used to propose deals to benefit the kingdom, to get billionaires to invest in charity, to bring important families to auctions.

“Channie, we have good news for you. It will perhaps work as a motivation to get you more into politics,” his mother put her hands together and stopped talking. Obviously, it was his father, the one who was going to bring in the news.

“Will you start paying me?” He joked and they both chuckled, exchanging a look he didn’t appreciate.

Wetting his lips, his father lifted his chin. “I have been in talks with the other nobles with young people your age in the family for the past months. After discussing this with your mother we agreed you are of age.” 

“Of age for what?” He took a sip of his water, showing the employees he still wanted to keep the glass with him. They were already taking the dishes away. 

His father handed his empty plate to one of the workers and waited until they all left the dining room. “Of getting married. You need someone by your side to help you with the burden of being king. We’re old, we won’t be here forever, you need someone you can trust.” Chan felt the air disappear from all around him. _Getting married? They wanted him to get married?_ The whole idea made no sense, and they must have realized that this was going through his head, the faces they made said so.

“Listen,” his father started, “I found the perfect match for you. He’s an Earl from the North, son of a very close friend of mine. Duke Lee has always been supportive of our family.” 

“A _he_?” 

Nothing made sense. The room was spinning and the more his father talked, the less he could listen. Chan felt his fingertips numb, his chest contracted and his lungs couldn’t hold any air. His body was there, but he felt like someone watching the scene from far away. He couldn’t explain what he said, or how he said it, nor how he made it to his bedroom. When he came back to reality he was sitting in bed, his phone in his hands, and Felix freaking out in their chat because zombie!Chan messaged him the news.

He couldn’t get married.

He didn’t want to get married. He was too young, too full of dreams and he could barely focus on a lecture during conference nights. How was he supposed to marry someone? 

It hit him right there and then: he didn’t even want to be king.

_Christopher Chan Bang, the crown prince, didn’t want to be king._

♛

“Shot! Shot! Shot!” the chorus of voices chanted out loud, bodies circling a table with two occupants in a bar on the upper side of downtown. They had been out for a while, and this was far from being their first stop. It was three in the morning of a Thursday and the bar wasn’t full, but there were some curious people staring to approach the table with curious eyes. Lee Minho sat on one end, while Kim Seungmin occupied the other. In between them, there was an almost empty bottle of gin, a long line of shot glasses filled with the transparent liquid, and two piles on either side with empty ones. Minho’s pile was higher, and the more people chanted, the faster he downed the shots. Seungmin, however, slowed down the more he drank, his pile of empty little glasses starting to look too short.

Minho slammed the last empty shot on the table and lifted his arms whilst bowing down his head. “Once again, you lost,” Minho pointed out and waited until people scattered. “You can’t keep trying to cross me, I hope you learned your lesson by now.”

“I didn’t cross you, Minho. _You_ dared me because you’re the worst ex-boyfriend ever,” Seungmin mumbled, he felt slow and not too well after all that gin. Were it vodka he might have been able to handle it a little longer, but gin was too bitter. He suspected that was the reason Minho chose it.

He shrugged and smiled when Ryujin pulled a chair to sit with them. “You’re the one who’s still obsessed with me, I’m just giving you what you deserve. Don’t you agree, Ryu?”

“I’m not even here, don’t talk to me.” She rolled her eyes and ran a hand through her dark blue strands.

Seungmin chuckled and pushed one of them still filled shots away from him, even the smell of gin was starting to get to him. “She hates you.”

“She doesn’t.” Minho took one of the shots and downed it. “She’s in a bad mood because it’s a weekday.”

Ryujin huffed. “And a weekday means classes in the morning, you know that.” Even with that said, she downs the other filled shot. “You keep partying because you’re a bon vivant.” Both Seungmin and Minho look at her with questioning looks. “Nevermind.” She waved them off.

Minho stretched his arms over his head and stood up, putting effort into pretending the room wasn’t spinning, making it look like his grip on the back of his chair was casual. “So, bon vivant here is going home. Mom wants me to have breakfast with her and some oldies from her bingo club, or poker club, or tricot club.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and waves it at them. “Don’t worry about the bill, I got it.”

“If you say so,” Seungmin shrugged and Ryujin laughed. “Same time and place on Saturday?”

“You know it!” He calls it and crosses the distance between them and the door. Minho wonders if he should call a car to take him home, the autumn breeze is colder at night and he shouldn’t be wandering around, risking his safety. When he puts his jacket on and steps outside he decides against it. It’s not that cold and something tells him it’s safe to go.

Minho steps down the sidewalk and onto the damp cobblestones, walking with his hands inside his pockets. From the bar to the mansion he shared with his parents is a twenty-five to thirty minutes walk, something he could easily cut by hailing a car. But the night was congenial for a walk, and it seemed like it wasn’t going to rain anymore.

He walked at a normal pace, enjoying the perks of being almost completely anonymous for most people that didn’t keep up with nobles and their lives. _Nobles_ , he thought, it was a little dumb to call them that. They were people that happened to have money because of sheer luck. They hadn’t worked for it, they never saved the world, the small acts of charity were nothing compared to how much the world needed help. Nobles in their titles but complete scumbags in their character.

Turning a corner, Minho stopped to watch a protesting graffiti on a wall. “Imagine equality”, he read in a whisper. The letters were white in the font, and the background was a melting Pride flag. Minho heaved and resumed his walk, the graffiti pierced in his mind all the way back home.

The sky was a lighter blue when he waved the security, stepped on the grass to cut a path, and silently made his way to his bedroom. He could sleep for a couple of hours before he had to be awake, looking sober to pretend he was a lovely young man that relished spending his free time listening to old ladies talk about their first world problems over tea, bingo, tricot, poker, or whatever it was his mother was dragging him to this time.

By morning he found out it was tricot.

They were knitting scarves for the kids in the shelter they used to help. And Minho being the only person there that still didn’t have an appointment with a geriatric doctor was being doted on. He was still drunk, which he was sure of because no matter how many coffees he had had since he woke up, he still could feel things and voices sounding distant like in a dream. His brain struggled to catch up on what was said to him, and one moment he had a mimosa in his hands, the other he was being taught how to knit.

Minho couldn’t remember agreeing to it, but now that he had he couldn’t back away. And his mother looked proud, smiling at him from the other side of the room like he was a precious little thing. And he wasn’t, he knew he wasn’t. He’d rather be waking up on some hot guy’s bed and giving them a morning blowjob to celebrate another night they survived. But his mom and all the ladies surrounding him, exchanging gossip and recipes didn’t know his mind and thoughts were less than pure. And if he messed up a stitch or two they would blame it on his lack of skills.

Several hours later, Minho was finally back home with his lips glued to the glass, downing water with painkillers for the inevitable hangover he had. He hated feeling like a truck ran him over the previous night, he hated the weirdly faint but still too strong to bother headache he got whenever he drank too much. But would that keep him from parties, nights out, and clubs with Ryujin and Seungmin?

Of course not.

Minho had been born into this family for one single purpose: to spend their money living. He traveled everywhere he wanted, went to all the coolest parties, made important friends, and rarely ever had to buy clothes: brands fought through and through to send him the newest collections. It was a good life, sometimes boring but overall good.

“Hungover again?” his father called when he stepped into the kitchen. He was wearing his golf uniform and smelled fresh out of the shower.

He glanced at the man over the rim of the glass, not removing his lips from it to speak. “I’m just hydrating. People can’t even drink water without being judged in this house.”

His father raised an eyebrow, throwing him one of the looks he knew meant he was being analyzed. The young earl hated it, and both his parents were aware of it, therefore used it all the time. “You got home late again, Minho. Don’t you think it’s time to do something useful with your life?”

Putting the glass down he sighed, all his efforts now focused on pretending he was having an insight, finding the light and solution for his uselessness. “Let me think. I can play the piano, I can dance jazz, hip hop, contemporary, and the waltz. I can speak Korean, Japanese, mandarin, french, Spanish, and English, so I can basically communicate with a good part of the world. I can play golf, polo, football, and volleyball. I can paint, and I can sing. I graduated college last year and majored in computer science, a true hacker. Hmmm… no. I’m good.”

He didn’t want to brag, but throughout his life, all he did was keep himself busy, doing things his parents deemed useful, important. Not because in the future he would use all that, but because peerage was envious of the peerage. If someone’s kid started to learn pottery, the next week all kids from the same social circle were doing it. It was funny to watch but painful to be one of the kids.

“I talked to King Bang last night,” his father walked to the cabinet like he was searching for something to munch on. Minho filled his second glass of water and considered never drinking again. It lasted two seconds because he remembered he beat Seungmin on doing shots, and that alone was enough to convince him to drink again. “I don’t remember, have you ever met the crown prince in person?”

Minho hummed a negative. Why would he meet the prince? The soft, sensitive prince that spent his preteens being the target of tabloids and the evil media. He loved being a simple earl that didn’t make the spotlights, he couldn’t begin to imagine the scandal if the press had put their hands on footage from the night he broke up with Seungmin. First: gay. Second: fighting. Third: drunk. Great combo. “No.” He adds when he stops drinking to take a breath.

His father seemed to have found what he was looking for, a cracker. The great Duke of the Kingdom of Clé needed a cracker. Ten to one he was still drunk to find that funny. “We talked a lot about the prince, and about you.” He coughed. “We came to the conclusion you both need a change.”

Suddenly it felt like his father was saying something he would want to pay attention to. His father stood on the other side of the kitchen, at least ten meters away from him. “I have the feeling you’re going to ask the prince to babysit me, and I will have to make his life hell.”

The Duke chuckled and smirked in a way that sent shivers down Minho’s spine. No way he got that right. “I gave you in marriage, Minho. You will be the new prince of Clé.”

“Funny. Ha. Ha.” He took another sip of water. “What will it be?”

The look on his face told Minho this wasn’t a joke. He looked serious, and Minho held his breath, waiting, hoping. The clock ticked, the fridge behind him made the usual sound it did when the ice started to be made, and somewhere a dog was barking.

Minho couldn’t say if his legs of his fingers gave out first, but a second after hearing that he was kneeling on the floor, water, and shreds of glass all around him. This couldn’t be happening. His family didn’t even know he was gay. He didn’t even know the prince! “I’m not an object you can give away,” he picked the shreds carefully, the water reflecting his father standing over him. “We’re _not_ in the nineteenth century anymore!”

“Stand up, someone else can clean this up.” His voice was icy. He couldn’t even look at the man, and the pieces of glass in his hand were starting to cut through the skin. “Minho, you’re bleeding, get up.”

He didn’t want to get married. He didn’t want it when he first kissed a boy, he didn’t want it when he met Felix, he didn’t want it when he dated Seungmin. He didn’t want it now. Minho didn’t want to spend the rest of his life with a man he didn’t know, keeping appearances and trying so hard to stay relevant. His freedom. Minho valued his freedom too much to give it away in the name of a crown.

Obeying his father, he stood up and dropped the glass on the floor again. Instead of staying and talking, however, he turned around and ran to the safest place he knew: his bedroom.

_Lee Minho would rather die than marry Bang Chan._

♛

It felt like the weather decided it would reflect his mood. The morning was colder than the past days, the heater in his bedroom wasn’t on and the light blanket covering his body didn’t feel enough. He could hear the rain falling outside, beating hard against the trees and the glasses. Chan sat up, it was still too dark for his sleepy eyes, but he reached to his bedside table and one look on his phone told him three things: it would be a rainy day in the whole country, it was way too early to be awake and Felix knew about the events of the night before already.

His mind backtracked, reliving the events that transpired during dinner. Chan was glad his siblings weren’t there to witness him being treated like they were still in the middle ages, and to realize that was most likely the way their lives were going to be led too.

A thunder got him a little more awake. Chan was going to get married to another man, simply because he couldn’t be a good crown prince and focus on politics. With a disheartened growl he laid back down in bed, pulled the covers over his head, and messaged Felix. His cousin was an early riser, with luck they would be able to talk.

_**Felix:** youll get married i cant believe this!!!!!!!!!!_

_**Felix:** how do you feel about this? i feel like were in a movie or something_

_**Chan:** not good i don’t want this, lix they want me to marry some guy i don’t know, who is also a guy_

_**Felix:** good morning, channie! and yeah i guess marrying you to a guy means the guy is a guy lol but hey, don’t freak out, it will be fine **Chan:** it's an arranged marriage! it’s like they’re punishing me because i’m not good enough_

_**Felix:** no! you are good enough, christopher! in fact i think you’re too good and that’s why they want you to take over as soon as possible_

_**Chan:** lix, no… we don’t actually have that much power over anything, this is not a democracy, it’s like a monarchy gone wrong_

_**Felix:** a constitutional hereditary monarchy gone wrong lmao… but yeah i see what you mean try talking to them, channie_

_**Chan:** you know how they are, there’s no use the next thing i know is hannah has a dress ready for the occasion, you’ll_

_**Felix:** she would… **Chan:** lix, i don’t want this, i don’t i have never not wanted something so hard in my entire life. i don’t know what to do, i just don’t want this. this is not how my life is supposed to go. i never got the chance to fall in love, lix_

_**Felix:** channie… :( did they tell you when the wedding will be? i have the feeling they will rush it_

_**Chan:** no…………… but why would they?_

_**Felix:** hmmm just a feeling i know my uncle and aunt_

_**Chan:** that means i need to rush an excuse to have them change their minds, geez_

_**Felix:** oh channie good luck on that i have to go, work calls me_

_**Chan:** ok, i hope you have a better day than me xx_

_**Felix:** youll be fine, bro xx_

He hadn’t been able to relax and sleep all night, he wasn’t going to sleep now. Chan sat up and pulled the covers closer around his body. Felix was always aware of everything going on in the country, it was his job as a PR assistant. He aimed to work with Chan someday, taking care of his public image, helping him on international affairs and keeping him informed of everything. His cousin was a hard worker, and if Chan could, he would hire Felix right now. If he said his parents were going to rush the wedding of doom, then they would.

As much as he would rather stay in bed and pretend he was dead for the rest of the day, he couldn’t. He would rather be optimistic and try his chances on making them change their minds without blacking out as he did during dinner. Chan got up, showered, got dressed, and combed his black hair the way his mother liked best. New day, new-

“So you’re getting married!” his bedroom door had been violently opened, and there stood Hannah and Lucas, both ready for class. Hannah had her small hands around a big cyan mug Chan liked to use it when he drank hot chocolate. “I am appalled!” Lucas continued and stepped inside the bedroom, followed by their sister.

After the jump scare caused by the sudden invasion, Chan turned back to the full body mirror on the door of his closet, fixing the crimson tie around the neck of his black shirt. “Someone’s nose has been stuck in a dictionary for too long, huh?” He turned around to see Lucas laying on his bed. “You’re appalled and I am greatly dismayed.”

He heard as Hannah coughed and stepped in front of him, holding the mug up as an offering. On a quick inspection, he saw some of the mini marshmallows they were always stealing from the kitchen floating on a creamy brown liquid. No doubt it was one of Hannah’s “found it on TikTok” recipes for hot chocolate. Chan smiled and took it from her with a quiet thanks leaving his lips. She knew exactly what kind of comfort he needed.

While Lucas was playing a dead starfish on his bed, Hannah took the chair on his desk, looking less than pleased at everything. “Do you want me to run a background check on the chosen one? With some luck, we can find some dirt on her-”

“Him.” Chan wished right away he hadn’t corrected Hannah. Both teens looked at him with confusion. He bought time by leaning against the wall and drinking some of the hot chocolate. It was good, a little too sweet, but something he would surely have again if his little sister offered him. “I see you’re both as surprised as I am.”

“Dude, when did you come out? I wasn’t informed,” Lucas sat up and turned to Hannah. “Did you know?”

As Hannah shook her head and opened her mouth Chan cut in. “I never came out because there is nothing to come out about. I’m straight, as far as I know. One more reason I don’t want to marry this guy.” He groaned. “I don’t want to get married, period.”

“Well,” Hannah got up when Lucas did, “I know mom and dad won’t let you off. They were telling miss Lee just now to call the press for an announcement tomorrow. Unless you change their minds in the next hours, game over.”

Lucas made sure Chan saw him pretending to die to illustrate how he would be a goner if he got married. “Good luck, Christopher! Keep us updated.” He waved when both left his bedroom.

Chan drank some more of the hot chocolate and wondered how the earl was taking the news. He didn’t even know him. He couldn’t remember if they told him his name, or showed him a picture. And even if they did it last night, his brain was very efficient in not working and ignoring all useful information.

The wings of the palace were distant enough to feel like the residential area was a completely different world than the office area. To get from one to another there was a long corridor with tall windows that faced the garden. On good days the sunlight drew long lines over the parquet squares on the floor made out of waxed oak wood. The design was unique, created especially for the king that ordered it built. Someone in Chan’s long bloodline. In the past, the corridor led to the guest wing, where other members of the aristocracy could stay during visits for balls, parties, and arrangements. Now, any guest the monarchy had visiting could stay in their preferred hotel, it was none of their business to provide shelter.

Sometimes, when Chan was feeling particularly wistful, he liked to sit on the floor there and sketch the windows, and how the maple trees outside outlined shadows on the glass. He could almost see his ancestors and their chosen friends crossing the long-distance in ball gowns, laughing with rosy cheeks after too much wine, exchanging shy glances and fleeting touches. He used to think the modern days had killed - thankfully - the forbidden romances and arranged marriages from that time. It was distressful to know he got that one wrong.

The king’s office was always closed and had at least two security guards by the door at all times. And nobody, not even the crown prince, was supposed to walk in without being on the list of people that would be visiting that day. Chan needed to be on his family’s good side, so he sent his mom and dad a message when he woke up, after talking to Felix and let them know he would stop by and needed both of them to be in the office. With a nod to both guards, he walked in.

It was his one and only chance to change their minds. “Mother, father.” He bowed his head politely and both smiled up at him. His father was behind his desk, and his mother stood by the self, moving some memorabilia.

“Good morning, son. I dressed nicely, and I like your hair.” She smiled sweetly in her gray pinstripe dress, her eyes full of fondness. “I like it when you comb it back like that.” Chan smiled.

“You should dress like that every day, you look respectful.” His father leaned against his chair, his smirk knowingly and giving him chills. “Business! You said you needed to talk about business.”

They were looking at him expectantly but serene, and Chan knew they knew. They knew what was the subject, they knew he was going to show them a million reasons why he couldn’t be forced into this. “I refuse to get married.” His voice came out firm, surprising even himself, but he didn’t budge. Not even when his parents exchanged a look and sighed. “I am not a bargaining chip, and I don’t know what is in store for the government in this arrangement, but it can’t be because I’m a slacker.”

“Christopher, you don’t have a say in it.” His father's tone was finite, his mother nodded in agreement, her lips pursed in a thin line. “Was that all? We’re talking about the details and preparing the date. In a month you’ll be getting Earl Lee in marriage.”

His mother took a step towards him, she wasn’t smiling. “We expect you to treat him nicely, and please be ready by seven, we will have a team ready to take your pictures for the press release.” She fixed her dress as she spoke. “We are in talks about a meeting for the both of you in our cottage next weekend. Don’t make any plans.”

He clenched his jaw, tempted to just turn around and accept his fate. And Chan would have done just that if it wasn’t such a big thing, if it was like them telling him he should learn baseball instead of basketball because they thought the pictures would look better with him in a baseball uniform. Like them taking him out of music classes because kings should focus on international affairs so they added another language course to his curriculum. This was nothing like it, this was trapping him with someone that could be his total opposite. Someone he might never come to love. They were ripping a slice of his life that was too big to be given up on.

“Please, please! I don’t want to get married yet. At least postpone it! You’re not giving me a choice, you’re marrying me off to another man and you don’t even know if I like men. Which irrefutable I don’t.”

The king rolled his eyes and focused on the computer in front of him. “Christopher, don’t waste our time. We’re done here. If you want to throw a tantrum you can do it over the internet to your cousin, to your friends, or whoever it is you talk to, but be ready by seven.” his voice was low and icy enough to let Chan know he had lost.

As he dragged his feet through the long corridor back to the residential wing, intent on doing just what his father suggested, he stopped by one of the windows. The rain had let out a little and just a few droplets slid down the glass. If he could, he would break out of the palace, he would run as fast as his legs could carry him and disappear in the middle of the woods. He would be anonymous, take the wheel of his own life.

Chan blinked once. Twice. He frowned, one crazy thought crossed his mind. “Good morning, your majesty!” A room maid called as she passed him by and Chan smiled at her, trying to look as normal as he could. He needed discretion, calm and good planning. When he reached his bedroom, already away from anyone who could hear him, he had a plan outlined in his mind already. All Chan needed now was his backpack, his money, his phone, and the fake ID he used to check-in in hotels abroad.

He was going to miss his siblings, but he could come back for them someday. Right now he had to make sure he was as far as possible before seven.

♛

Minho slammed the door to his bedroom so hard the windows shook. He grabbed his bright orange hair with both hands and cried out in frustration, his back hit the closed door and his body slid down to the floor. He couldn’t believe his parents shut him down like he was nothing like he was some useless idiot that would only have a purpose marrying someone of power.

They talked like his father wasn’t the highest authority of the north of the country, like aristocracy still mattered. His mother was beyond excited for the wedding, wondering who would design her dress and Minho’s suit. Unless it was a wooden suit, he wasn’t wearing any.

Crawling on his knees towards the closet, Minho opened the door. From a high shelf, he pulled a duffel bag, one he barely ever used. He stuffed it with clothes he was rarely ever seen wearing, some extra shoes, underwear, his power bank, and charger. In the drawer, he found the fake ID he used for a convention in Sweden and stuffed it in his wallet. He changed his shirt, his pants, and his jacket for some old ones he owed for more than four years now. His bright orange hair still gave him away, but he would have to take care of that later.

Minho walked fast, aware the cameras were catching him when he made his way to the garage. It was rare to see him there, they had drivers, and he was particularly keen on moving around by Uber. Today, though, it was a different story. Minho fished the keys of the holder, threw the duffel bag on the backseat, and sat on the driver’s. He had two stops to make before he disappeared forever. First, a drugstore, he needed box dye. Second, Seungmin’s, he needed his bathroom.

After that, only the future would tell. Minho told his parents he was _not_ going to marry Bang Chan, crown prince or not, and he wouldn’t. If running away was the only chance he had on getting some say in the matter, so be it.

He turned the ignition on and bid a last goodbye to his life as peerage.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone once said that leaving is hard. Until you leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took me longer than expected to post this!  
> I effed up my wrist, I had a terrible couple of days mentally speaking, and college kind of ate me up. I know this chapter isn't that good, but I promise to give you all a better one next week.
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and positive reactions to this piece! <3

♕

Minho knew his way around Kim's mansion better than he would ever like to admit. The family retained a fortune he couldn’t even start to put in numbers, they owned the most prestigious and traditional bank in the kingdom. Considering, he had been forced into a friendship with their son since he was still too young to remember and roamed those halls for far too long to not know even the smallest details.

He knew, for example, there was a chewed bubble gum hidden behind the big framed oil-painted picture of Seungmin’s great-grandfather in the entrance hall, because he had put it there when they were eleven. And he knew there was a secret passage in the library that led to a meeting room turned into a private cinema, and the lever to open it was a very old copy of a Sherlock Holmes book, the only fiction among the hundreds of bibliographies. He knew also that the door in the kitchen, the one to the backyard, was always on the latch, never locked. It was as an emergency escape route in case something happened, a quick way to the garage and cars. Minho could spend hours talking about the boisterous times they shared in the mansion. The times threw pool parties, ran and messed around in rooms they shouldn’t be in. The renovated wallpapers hid marks and secrets none of them would be able to ever forget.

Seungmin had always been a presence in his life. He was his loyal friend, his worst enemy, his first relationship, and his one and only official ex. They knew each other better than their parents ever would, Minho’s biggest curse because the more he tried to hide something, the more Seungmin knew he was doing it. It was unnerving to cross the spacious lounge holding on to a secret and to climb the marble stairs two steps at a time. The closer he got to his ex’s bedroom, the nearer he was to spill his guts to him.

His bedroom was the last one to the left, with big hardwood double doors Minho was used to crossing and kicking open without a second thought. This time he decided to knock, not because he was suddenly a polite adult, but because Seungmin deserved one last gesture of niceness from him. Just one. But as soon as he knocked he peeked inside to find the other coming towards him with a questioning look.

“You didn’t say you were here already, I thought you were still in your place,” Seungmin frowned and watched Minho shrug. As he walked inside the bedroom, he took notice of his surroundings, the desk on the corner with an e-reader, a computer, and a laptop. The shelf stacked with figurines and souvenirs from places he visited, a framed picture of his family and one with him and Ryujin. In the static image, she smiled, one arm around each of them, the whole trio wearing the shirt of their art academy. 

“I like to be the element of surprise,” Minho forced an overly excited smile and turned to him with his arms spread, the small paper bag hanging from his left hand. “Surprise!”

Seungmin looked unimpressed. “I thought surprises were supposed to be good.”

“I am. I am great.” Minho turned back around, dropping his arms when he walked past the first door inside the bedroom, finding the dressing table on the corner, Seungmin’s king-sized bed across from it, and on the right the door to his bathroom. “I need a regular towel and a towel you won’t mind getting stained. And I need you to call Ryu. Tell her to please come over.”

Seungmin, who had been following him, stood by the bathroom door with a confused look. He was obviously dying to ask what was inside the paper bag, but at the mention of the second towel, it seemed to sink in. “Sure. But why exactly can't you do this in your own house? What if I have something to do? Or someone coming over?” He walked inside his closet and came out with a white and a dark blue towel and handed them to Minho. “White, regular. Blue, can get stained.”

“Thank you,” Minho mumbled and sighed taking a good look at Seungmin. “We both know you don’t have a social life besides Ryujin and I. I’ll be right back. Call her.” He closed the door.

Seungmin blinked a few times and tried to contain a frustrated scream as he started to look for his phone.

♕

If Chan thought about it, he had no idea when was the last time he left the palace unsupervised, no messages left about where he was going or when he was coming back. No driver, no security guard in the car behind him, no PR telling him to smile and stretch because paparazzi were hidden nearby. It was thrilling to taste a tiny slice of freedom like this, with his face hidden by a dust mask, a black cap covering the dark curls of his hair, a pang of guilt for not leaving a note for his siblings. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t know what to say and he didn’t want to risk them finding out too soon and catching him red-handed. He took quick but silent steps in the direction of the entrance, minding the cameras and trying to commit to memory all the blind spots. The closer he stayed to the walls, the less likely to be seen.

He left through the back, he got into the bushes, past the ones with thorns until he reached the bulwark that delimited the residence. Chan walked close to it, trying to avoid the branches and twigs that snapped against his body, some cutting his skin, some scratching enough to hurt. Soon he found what he was looking for: the door the servants used for the disposal of garbage. They used a big cart positioned there every day, getting stacked to the brim until three-thirty in the afternoon. By then someone had to go there and push it outside, and by four the garbage truck would collect all the disposed of bags, and someone would bring the cart back inside to refill it for the next day. It was easy to find the schedule, one trip to the kitchen, and Chan got everything he needed, the servants had a soft spot for him and seemed to find the prince too endearing to refuse to answer his questions. (“Wow, that’s a lot of garbage! How do you send it away?” “Oh, it’s actually quite simple…”)

A quick look at the clock and he realized he had less than five minutes until someone was pushing the cart outside. Chan glanced around, found nothing. 

The more he approached it, the more he could smell something putrid mixed with something tart, it was the kind of smell that stuck to nostrils, to clothes, to plastic. It made his eyes water and for a brief second, he wondered if that was worth it, or if he should suck it up and get married like any normal prince would.

His body answered for him when he looked up the ramp considering the possibility of marriage not being as bad as smelly rests. The ramp led to the back of the palace, where the greenery and door to the kitchens were, where someone’s voice traveled to him. Chan’s train of thought got cut and supporting his foot on a relief on the surface and his hands on the edge, he jumped in. He landed on an especially smelly bag, and to his horror there was some liquid leaking from somewhere, creating a puddle right under his butt.

Trying not to think too much he pulled one of the bags over him. Regret flooded his senses when for that decision - like all decisions he had made ever since he woke up that morning - because whoever was set to push the cart outside threw a new bag right over the one over him.

Chan prayed he wouldn’t throw up down there, pressed like a sardine. Except sardines had it good, they were pressed against other sardines, not… he didn’t want to mull over what he was pressed in between.

As the cart was pushed, he started counting to ground himself, trying not to inhale too deep or move around and make noises. Chan thanked every deity he was wearing that mask, he would rather die than have anything fall on his mouth. The cart stopped moving and a gate was opened. Cart moving again, he heard footsteps and the gate closing. He waited a little longer, checking if he could hear anything else that gave away the presence of people outside. When he didn’t, he moved, pushed the bags off him, and jumped out. His feet hit the ground with a heavy thump he didn’t have the time to check if it was heard. Ripping the mask off, he ran as fast as he could towards downtown: he needed an ATM, a shower, and bleach, the order of it was irrelevant at that point.

So irrelevant he gets used to the smell of his clothes and his first stop is at the ATM. It’s the closest one to his house, around forty minutes away alternating between quick steps and sprints. Chan is tired, smelly, and honestly scared his putrid state will bring him more attention than he wants.

The ATM is inside a grocery store he had passed by several times, always inside the car. It’s in a corner, small, with bright lights inside. The store looked small and claustrophobic from the outside, with goods crowded and little space between shelves. The stickers with ads covering a good part of the glasses didn’t make it look any more appealing, but the sign pointing to passersby the ATM inside got him sold. One step in and all heads turned to the door. Chan looked down, afraid he was going to be recognized, and walked fast to his destination. 

He had five cards in total: his checking account, his savings account, and three credit cards that offered him the possibility to withdraw almost one-third of his limit. It must have looked weird to everyone in the grocery store that he kept withdrawing money and stacking them inside his backpack.

Which also smelled like shit. Chan needed a new one.

After some time he managed to shove all the bills inside, under his clothes. Then, still, with eyes on him and people stepping away when he came closer, he found the things he needed: bleach, developer, red gold corrector, toner, gloves, and a brush. Chan had no idea what he was doing, but WikiHow was of great help. He stopped by the snacks, took a bag of Doritos, then a juice box in the drinks, and dropped everything to the cashier. 

“Hi!” He smiled. The man made a face and tried to smile back, but Chan knew it was hard. He would be complaining himself if he was in his position. For that alone, he pulled two of the highest bills he had and put them on the counter in front of him. “Keep the change!” He stuck all items in a plastic bag and walked out as fast as he could. Now all he needed was a place to fix his hair, to take a shower, and get back on the run.

Oh, yeah, and if he happened to find someone selling backpacks on his way there, he needed to get himself a new one. He felt nasty.

♕

It took Minho ages to reach the shade of orange he longed for to dye his hair. And after he did, Ryujin was constantly nagging at how he needed to nourish and hydrate it, to constantly trim it and get rid of split ends. And she was good with her advice, she knew exactly what to do because her hair was always a different color, prone to be dead by the constant bleaching. Still, the most beautiful and healthy hair he had ever seen. He couldn’t deny her looks were close to perfection by his standards, if he wasn’t so into dick while she was so opposed to dick, maybe he would have tried his luck with her.

It was a shame to watch the dark brown dye running down the drain as he washed his hair. Minho tried to focus on the fact that it was just hair, and orange made it too easy to find him while dark brown was common. Dark brown was the usual: pretty but normal, he could blend in with civilians, stand in a crowd, and hide in plain view. He aimed to become even more anonymous than he had ever been, just an invisible presence in the crowd, never seen, never noticed. At least until people forgot about him going missing.

When he left the bathroom with his hair dried and down, he heard Seungmin and Ryujin talking in whispers, ushered tones and urgency dripping from their words. They stopped talking when he stepped into the small area where Seungmin’s desk was. Ryujin found comfort in a big pillow close to the wall, and Seungmin on his comfortable chair.

Ryujin raised her head with wide eyes, mouth agape. “What did you do to your hair? Did you use box dye?”

“The orange didn’t suit me anymore,” Minho shrugged and kneeled near his duffel bag. “Box dye is a friendly solution, no shaming allowed.”

“Minho, what is going on?” She pressed. One glance and he could tell she was scared, her eyes scanning him like she could find the answers to the questions she was undoubtedly discussing with Seungmin. “You’re not this impulsive. Usually.”

What could he say? That she was wrong? She wasn’t. Ryujin met him when he was preparing for a dance competition in the academy. They were thirteen and Ryujin was the best dancer among them, she observed and helped a lot of the younger kids. When she came to him, Minho knew she would suggest something life-changing, like dropping the hip hop choreography he was having trouble with to try contemporary dance.

It was life-changing. He won first place.

In a different way, she knew him just as much as Seungmin, there was no use pretending this was just a change of mind. He couldn’t smile and tell her he woke up one day and thought orange didn’t have a place in his hair anymore, that his strands could now only house brown hair dye. He couldn’t pretend his quick solution to the problem was a well-thought decision instead of a desperate measure. “If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.”

Seungmin hissed. “Did you kill someone? Where did you hide the body?”

Minho frowned, amused to find his friends didn’t look like they were joking. “I didn’t kill anyone!” It came out more defensive than he intended. “I can’t-”

“Minho, please. There’s nothing we can’t help you with. We all have money, contacts, influential friends…” Ryujin listed and Seungmin nodded in agreement. 

“My parents offered me in marriage.” Minho gave up trying to hide. He waited, but both seemed too in shock, or too confused. “They gave me in marriage to the one and only Bang Chan, the crown prince. I tried talking to them, I tried to get my way out of it, it didn’t work.” He looked away from his duffel bag and to them.

Seungmin shook his head, color drained off his face. “And are you moving to the capital? You-you’re…”

“No!” Minho got up and slung his bag over his shoulder. “Never! I’m leaving, I’m running away. I might never come back and that’s why I wanted to see you two.” 

Ryujin walked to him and enveloped him in a warm, tight hug. “I am so sorry, Min. I am so sorry. I don’t want you to go but I totally understand, we can go against everyone, the whole world, but we can’t go against the crown. Not the crown.”

“We would be sent to jail for treason,” Seungmin walked to them when Ryujin let him go. 

This was harder than Minho thought it would be. Seungmin’s eyes were watering, but he knew not a single tear would fall, he was that controlled. “I need to go. They still didn’t notice my absence, the farther I get before they do, the better.”

Seungmin tugged on his sleeve hard enough to bring him into his arms. The hug was brief but full of warmth, feelings, and memories. “I wish I had asked for your hand in marriage before someone else took you.” And he was so honest in his words it made Minho shiver a little as he pulled away.

“Seungmin, I will never get married. Not to him, not to you, not to anyone. If you had asked for my hand in marriage, I would have told you no. We tried the relationship thing, it’s not for me.” Minho patted his shoulder and smiled. “You’ll find the right one. And so will you, Ryu!” He cheerfully added. 

She laughed and shook her head. “Go, before someone notices. And please update us when you’re all settled down, okay?”

Minho put a white and yellow cap on and his glasses with pink lenses. “Will do! Live a good life! See you in the future!” When he was already by the door, he waved without looking back. 

♕

Seungmin always thought they would figure it all out and get back together. Maybe not immediately, maybe not next week, or not next time they were out drinking. But he felt they would, that one day Minho would look at him and say he got it all wrong and deep down his feelings were romantic feelings. 

Because they were good together. Even Ryujin said so once while laying down on Minho’s bed trying to nurture a hangover before they were out to a party. Seungmin was always hopeful, always lingering to the tenderest touches and fleeting glances. He always wished Minho’s flings were just another way to make him sure of his feelings, yearning for the day he would see him as his love interest again.

But like a crystal glass, all this longing had now been shattered. If he focused enough he could see the pieces scattered by his feet, his heart in tiny shreds, impossible to be glued back together. He doubted he would ever be able to feel that strongly for anyone other than Lee Minho, the Earl that was now on a runaway mission to never return.

Seungmin felt like a fool, anyone in his position would have accepted the truth because Minho never led him on. Minho never kept him hoping and dreaming. He never, not even once after they broke up, told him this separation was temporary. On the contrary: Minho made it clear as day that he no longer had romantic feelings for him.

“I don’t love you anymore. I’m sorry.” Were his exact words. While Minho chose honesty, Seungmin chose denial. This wasn’t Minho hurting him, this was him breaking his own heart over something that he created himself.

♕

The reflection in the mirror was not like him at all. Those light curls looked so different they made Chan freak out a little. It was good that he didn’t look much like himself, he needed anyone looking for him to search for someone with black hair. Like this, and the new backpack he looked nothing like his old self. Maybe the clothes would give him away, but he could deal with it some other time. Chan pushed his body off the sink, ran his fingers through damaged curls one last time and nodded, he would get used to it.

On the single bed of a hotel, he found while wandering around downtown rested his new backpack. It was bigger than the old one he had already discarded, abandoned with his previous clothes in a plastic bag inside another plastic bag in the corner of the badly decorated bedroom. He split all the money he withdrew, stuck a part on each sock, and placed them all at the bottom. He covered the socks with his clothes, cut all his cards, and flushed the pieces down the toilet. In a way, this was exciting, he felt like a character in a movie, running away from the bad guys.

The clock on the bedside table told him it was twenty-three past six, and his intuition said his parents - the bad guys - were frothing at the mouth because he wasn’t answering his phone. Good luck to whoever found it abandoned on a short wall near the grocery store he bought the bleach. He was careful enough to remove the chip, his contacts deleted. It was an expensive model, he hoped someone in need found it. 

As he finished packing he put on another mask, a black beanie, and a black hooded jacket. He paid to stay overnight, but he only needed the shower and a place to have the snacks and juice he got. 

Chan was ready. It was scary to leave, to set foot outside thinking he could be pursued, wanted by the police, or even be presumed dead. But the feeling was also appealing in a way, for the first time he could make his own decisions, choose his own path and if everything went wrong he could only blame himself. 

He smiled behind the fabric covering half of his face. As foreign as it would sound even for himself, Chan was ready to start his solo adventure.

Downtown was packed, people walked past him without a second glance, carrying bags of groceries or running to hop in a bus back home. The skyscrapers, part of the program to modernize the capital, were filled with offices, big banks, and employees that left around six-thirty or seven o’clock. It was easy to blend in, to pretend he was one of them making his way home. And even though his feet hurt thanks to how much he walked and ran, he didn’t think it was safe to sign a cab to take him to the bus station. As soon as the news about his disappearance inevitably started, everyone he had contact with would surely say their piece about how they saw him, where he came from, where he was headed to. 

Counting on having the best and smartest people from the government security after him, these pieces of information would guide them easily. He ogled the clock on the street, the digital numbers marked ten minutes past seven. It was too late. Chan couldn’t give up now, because going back wasn’t an option, and warning someone wasn’t smart. He focused on the numbers, the zero that changed into one, how the image disappeared to show people the temperature and the quality of the air in that region. When all the numbers faded an advertisement started. It showed a family in the 90s, the little girl saying she wanted to become a doctor. The parents exchanged a glance, smiled and the next day the father was seen opening a savings account in the Royalty Bank. The scene changed to nowadays, with the little girl now a grown-up graduating from med school and thanking her father for the savings account. It was silly but expressed well how the Royalty Bank valued tradition and people’s money. He smiled to himself, Chan loved his people. Crossing the street he passed by a few men carrying buckets of white paint. On the wall they were working on, a graffiti with a rainbow flag was half-covered by the white paint they were using. He had seen that graffiti somewhere else in the city, vaguely remembering something about it being important.

His father was right. He zoned out too much during meetings, serious talks, and conventions. But that wasn’t a problem right now. 

After he asked some people for directions, Chan finally found himself at the bus station. With his fake ID, he bought the ticket that would take him farther from the capital and closer to somewhere he still didn’t know. The bus left at eight, he had five hours to sleep during the trip and by one in the morning he was supposed to be in a train station far from home.

♕

Driving wasn’t Minho’s favorite thing, but he would be a fool to deny the experience was enticing. He watched blurry cars suspended behind, his foot on the pedal pressing hard. In all honesty, he had nothing to lose, whatever he might have owned he was leaving behind, everything he ever knew and all the friends he had ever made, and there was no use crying over it. Right then it felt like he was being chased by lions, he needed to raise the distance between him and everything that could compromise his life.

Minho considered he could be overreacting. He wasn’t fond of drama and the thought hit him like sabotage created by the small part of his conscience that screamed he should be more considerate. But then again, if he was overreacting Ryujin and Seungmin would have said so. They simply supported his decision and sent him off.

Seungmin.

He worried about his ex. Deep down Minho had a hunch the idiot still nurtured feelings for him, even if he was being careful to never give him any hope. He was caught by surprise when he mentioned marriage, even suggesting he lost to Bang Chan. That was absurd, he couldn’t lose something he didn’t have.

And Minho wasn’t his. He had been for five months. Then he opened up, told Seungmin how he truly felt: nothing. He felt nothing. The sparkles he saw when they first kissed faded soon after, and the more Minho tried to bring them back, the less he succeeded. Minho guessed it felt good because in their heads that wasn’t supposed to happen, but when it turned into a regular occurrence, it lost its appeal. It happened years ago, Seungmin should have moved on.

This whole situation with Minho running away and not being part of their little family anymore would be good for Minnie. He needed to meet new people, Ryu would take care of that for sure.

The highway was almost empty in that region. Minho was heading down the mountains and into the city. On one side his view was of lavender camps, the purple flowers creating a beautiful blanket over the hills and around a few trees. On the other side, the road ended in a grassy field that was broken by the rocks that started on the edge and went all the way down. 

Minho turned the wheel towards the grass and stopped the car. He pulled his duffel bag off the backseat and jumped out. He closed the door to the driver’s seat and one push was all he needed to watch the car falling off the hill. Standing on the edge he watched it burn, crashed in between the rocks. It would take the police some days to find it, and then a few more days to identify it. It was good enough for him, by the time they connected the car to his family, Minho would be away and well hidden.

He sat there, the flames caused by gasoline and sparks of metal against rocks were pretty high. It felt nice to watch something expensive becoming a pile of garbage. When the smoke died down a little, he took the side of the road and walked until he was far enough to not be connected to the car in case someone saw that. He put a smile on his face and with his thumb out tried his luck hitchhiking. 

♕

Breakfast in the palace was a feast with brioches, croissants, fruits, all types of teas, coffee, and pancakes. Whatever one could want, they would have it for breakfast. There was even this notepad attached to the fridge in the kitchen, and whenever someone wanted something all they had to do was to scribble it there and if not in a few hours, by morning they would have it. When he was a kid Chan thought that was magic, that the notepad worked like a food genie, except it was not locked in a bottle. The fridge genie. 

It was quite the opposite of breakfast in a train station where he slept on a wood bench. His back hurt, he felt like he had aged eighty-four years in a night. The only clean place where he had the courage to stop by and get something to eat was crowded with people that looked like they had been run over by a steamroller and somehow survived. His sandwich didn't taste half as bad as it looked, and the juice was good, sweet and iced. But people looked at him weirdly enough to get him moving back to the bench where he slept, alone to contemplate the complexity of life when you didn’t have someone to do everything for you.

The station was big, maybe the largest one in the kingdom, the railways connected so many one could go anywhere in the country by getting a train there. Chan spent the night on a bench in the waiting area, not the cleanest corner he found, but the only one where he could lay on his backpack and sleep a little. He arrived a little past one in the morning, and the only sound around was of an off tuned radio from the man cleaning the bathrooms. The sound faded soon and Chan was faced with the uncomfortable silence of a weird place. All in all, he thought he was doing well so far, he was a little surprised the news wasn't exploding with announcements about the missing crown prince yet. 

Somehow, he predicted it would take them some time before they told everyone he was gone. It was a strategy because they were in the dark regarding what happened. Had he run away? Had he been kidnapped? Was he just hiding and pranking everyone because he didn’t want to get married? The possibilities were too many, and if someone had abducted him, making it a known fact on TV could put the culprit under too much pressure and lead it to Chan being murdered. First, security needed to be sure what was the scenario. Only then they could act. Chan gave it four days at max in his head. Four days and his face would be everywhere. The mask was mandatory, he couldn’t risk it.

Behind all the benches in the waiting area, stuck to the wall, was a decent sized map of the Kingdom of Clé. On the corner, inside a square, the stations and railways were divided by colors, informing which train one should take to get where. As Chan stood there, he considered where to go. He owned a house in the north, between the mountains, everyone’s cottagecore dream. But that would be too obvious, he needed a new place, somewhere nobody would look for-

“Ah, too many options…” Chan was so distracted he failed to notice someone stood next to him, apparently just as lost. He was a bit taller, with brown hair sticking out of a white and yellow cap, wearing sunglasses with pink lenses that were light enough to let Chan see his eyes moving from a spot to another on the map. “Do you happen to know which train I should take to get to the Twilight Shore?”

The man slowly turned to look at him, wide eyes and parted lips, looking like a small lost bunny. “Yellow Wood,” Chan pointed at the map, traced his finger down from Twilight Shore to the station. “The train will take you as far as to Yellow Wood, there you need to take another train, or a bus, or something to Miroh Town.”

“That’s confusing. Why can’t they have a train that goes all the way to the shore?” He took off his hat and scratched his head. Chan giggled at his frustration and decided some things happened for a reason.

He turned to the taller guy, smiling behind his mask, hoping he didn’t look too creepy. In his place, Chan would be stepping away from his weird self. “Listen, I’m headed there too. If you want we can go together and I’ll help you hop on the right trains. What do you think?” The stranger seemed to think a little. He didn’t hide the fact that he ogled him from head to toe before he hummed in approval. “Deal. By don’t try anything funny, I’m a taekwondo black belt.” So was Chan. “I wouldn’t dare!” he lifts his hands in a defensive gesture. Carefully he reaches out a hand to the stranger. “I’m Chris, nice to meet you.” The bunny guy frowns with his eyes glued to Chan’s hand. For a moment Chan thinks he won’t take it, but he does. “Minho. I’m Minho. Nice to meet you.”

As they shook hands Chan felt something shifted. Like pieces falling in place on a puzzle, because there was something familiar about the complete stranger. He couldn’t pinpoint what, but when their eyes met it felt like home. “Let’s get tickets for the next train, shall we?”

Minho gave him a short nod and together they walked to the ticket office to seal their fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmm what now?  
> Hehehe
> 
> I hope you had fun reading this! You can follow me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/br0kenc0mpasss) and talk to me about MinChan, Jilix, 2Min, ChangJin, and whatever other ship you fancy. 
> 
> By the way, [ here’s the playlist for this work ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2gqQ80OYoWywskNKLvPnLf?si=sqfDT90QSQ2tmLWJpvqtvQ)
> 
> Let me know what you think? <3 Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to hear what you think of it so far!
> 
> Updates will be done once a week. If you want to scream about MinChan and some of my other beloved ships, follow me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/br0kenc0mpasss)! <3 I also have a [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/br0kenc0mpasss) if you want to chat on anon!


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